“You can start over anywhere. Anywhere. Boston. A new school. A new state. A new team. A new room with a squeaky couch and two depressed goldfish in a bowl. Literally anywhere.”
I lift the little leather-bound journal I bought in Chatham and wiggle it at the camera.
“I bought this journal. I’ve been writing. Not to be aesthetic or whatever, but because I needed to remind myself that my story isn’t over. Every page I fill is proof I’m still here. Still fighting. Still deciding who I want to be.”
My chest feels tight. But good tight, like something unclenches.
“And this—this video diary—is my love letter. To all of you. To anyone who’s ever woken up with dread in their stomach because their face was turned into a meme. Because one bad moment became a hashtag. Because a screenshot lived longer than your reputation.”
I look straight at the lens.
“You can start again. You can start again every day if you need to.”
Snow falls harder outside. It makes everything feel quiet and holy.
“Here’s the truth I’ve learned,” I say softly. “People who bully you? They’re not powerful. They’re not confident. They’re not happier than you. They’re hurting. They’re jealous. They’re insecure. They’re lost. And making someone else feel small—temporarily—makes them feel bigger.”
I shake my head.
“But that’s temporary too.”
A breath.
A smile.
The tiniest flicker of hope.
“Look… I’m in therapy. And yeah, I’m not too cool to admit that. I needed it. Badly. And maybe you do too. There’s no shame in that. Zero.”
I lean closer to the camera.
“You’re not broken. You’re not weak. You’re not what they said you were. Pain is temporary. Shame is temporary. Harassment is temporary.”
I lift my journal again.
“But this?
This is permanent.
Your story.”
I flip it open to a blank page.
“And you get to write the next chapter. Not them.”
Something in me feels like it’s lifting—like wings unfurling.
“Tonight my family and I walked through Boston. We ate seafood and rode a Duck Boat with freezing faces and took pictures in front of giant Christmas trees. No one knew me. No one pointed. No one whispered. I wasn’t the scholarship girl. Or the bullied girl. Or the slime girl. Or Leo Holt’s ex.”
A small, shaky laugh.
“I was just… Jade. And it felt good. It felt like breathing.”
I wipe at my eye, snow glow catching the motion.
“So maybe tomorrow, try it. Unplug. Put all your phones in a basket on the counter and just… be with your people. The ones who truly care about you.”
My voice turns into a whisper.
